not my mama’s turkey
not my mama’s turkey
Photo: iStock

It’s two days before Thanksgiving, and today my sister called to ask me if I know how to cook a turkey.


I don’t, and neither does she, but we are going to struggle through it together this week because by some dumb stroke of luck we have ended up with two of them.


I am going to call my mama, of course, because her turkey has never failed me in any of my years. Hers is always tender and juicy and worth eating the entire weekend after the holiday. It never lasts past Sunday.


When we were growing up, she always cooked it in the oven, and we would be playing around the house smelling that turkey all day. When it was time to cut it, the meat would be falling off the bone. It was seasoned just right and paired with all the custom side dishes—dressing, macaroni and cheese, greens, green beans, sweet potatoes, Grandma Judge’s fresh cranberry sauce, those old school brown and serve rolls and lots of desserts.

We’d eat until we were overcome by the ethnic fatigue, and then would nap, wake up and eat some more.

This is how Thanksgiving works.

So yes, at this big age, I am going to be cooking a turkey for the first time.

Wish me luck.

Oh, and if you are so inclined, leave your turkey roasting secrets and tips in the comment section.

News Editor for The Root. I said what I said. Period.

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